Light replenished the dark. Small arms and legs kicked stretching for air. I was born. A mother's heartbeat flooded into freshly molded ears. Calm surrounded. You gave birth to me, mom. Do you remember waking up at 4:00 A.M just to feed me or see why I was fussing? Do you remember the feeling of humble hands reaching out to be held? What about the tune of a baby's laughter? Do you remember how thrilled I sounded whenever I saw you? You do. I'm sure of it. What changed? What made you incapable of caring for me like that again? Was it from the drinking? Constantly sleeping away the hangovers while I was fending for myself. Too busy with guys to notice that your only child was doing drugs, failing school, and fighting with everyone she worried for. Although you still never teach me how to be a young woman, I've held on and climbed back up. I've beat my demons and made something of myself. Just because you gave birth to me doesn't mean you're a mother. I thank you for creating me and for bringing me into this world. But other than that, you're just a woman. Just like me. I look around and see daughters and sons with their mothers and I think, how different would I have been if you had still been a mother?